The Love in the Bullet
by Mm.Mystery
Summary: Grace Cristine Booth is a 16 year old girl, who has only ever fit in with her best friend, Michael. When trajedy strikes will she realize just how important he is to her? OCxOC. Future Au fic. Rated for language and suggestivity.
1. Checkers

The fog was dense and low that morning. I shivered and pulled my jacket closer. Its not like I was a stranger to the cold, I lived out on the east coast all my life. Its just that something about the moisture in the air caused me to feel exposed to the elements. I was thankful I didn't have to walk far, just down the walk to Michael's car. When I opened the door to the powder blue coop a rush of warmth hit me. I slid into my seat greeting him with my usual foggy hello.

"Morning, Sunshine. Coffee?" he asked. He held out his Styrofoam cup to me and I took it gratefully. In retrospect, maybe it was weird the we shared food and drink. I never really thought about it like that. Michael was my best friend, my only friend. He was always there. No one else really knew me. My parents were great, and I knew how much they cared for me, but often their cases got the better of them. Kids at school came and went like seasons, most of them unfriendly. Our parents' jobs labeled us as freaks and weirdoes. Michael understood the feeling of being on the outside looking in. It didn't bother me much anymore. At this point I knew I was lucky. Growing up amongst the best minds in the world gave me an easier time in the academic aspects of school. Today, of course, was just an ordinary day.

"Happy Hump Day." I told him as soon as I remembered that it was Wednesday.

"Damn it!" he groaned.

"Looks like your buying lunch today." I said in a sing- song voice. Usually we just switched off, but on special occasions, whoever wished "Happy whatever holiday" first got a by for footing the bill.

"Try not to look so smug. Please. Its unsportsmanlike." He joked.

"Your just bitter because you lost at checkers Yesterday, and this is just to painful a reminder." I volleyed with mock melodrama.

"You cheated!" He shouted laughing even as the words came out of his mouth.

"Maybe I did. Doesn't change the fact that you lost for the first time in 3 months!" I know. That's an absurd daily ritual, but what else or we going to do? Watch our parents work with dead guys? No. Thanks, I'd rather not throw up. Checkers is the only game we have access to at the Jeffersonian, and we've played it every afternoon after school since I was old enough to understand it. We continued to make mindless chit- chat until we arrived at school. He swung a hard left into the parking lot and took the spot he always took. We got out, grabbed our backpacks, and said good bye. Before we allowed ourselves to be swept into the crowds of teens getting to class Michael confirmed what I already knew.

"Right here, 12:25 for lunch?" he asked. I smiled.

"Of course." And with that we parted. My classes passed uneventfully until 3rd period, right before lunch. I had English 3rd period and wasn't really paying attention to the teachers incessant ramblings on the misuse of commas and semi- colons. I had five minutes left before I had an hour with Michael. An hour to drive to the dinner and grab pancakes. I was deep into my syrupy daydream when the PA crackled on.

"Excuse the interruption: Grace Booth, to the office." I stood up and grabbed my stuff, tuning out the jeers of kids and the 'oooh. The Freaks in trouble!' I heard someone shout. I walked slowly hoping that I wouldn't have to go back to my English class afterward, since it was so close to lunch. I hated the secretary's office. It was bland and colorless and everyone always seemed like robots. That's how I knew something was wrong. As soon as I entered I felt a string emotion hit me: sadness. Every single person in the that office was frowning, a slight tearful redness in their eyes. My stomach twisted up, like I had just chugged a gallon of sour milk.

"I was P.?" I asked. Mrs. Baum the aging secretary handed me the phone she was nodding into.

"Its your mom." She told me, something slightly apologetic in her voice.

"Mom?" I spoke softly into the phone.

"Oh, Gracie. I- I should've seen it! Its all my fault! I could've stopped it!" Her voice was choked.

"Calm down, Mom. What happened?" I asked trying to steady my voice, to provide assurance for her.

"Your father was shot. In the chest. He's in surgery." My mouth went dry.

"Will he.. will he survive?" I asked finally understanding the overall mood of the room.

"I don't know. These damned doctors won't tell me anything…" After that she began to fo what she does best. She covered her emotion with science mumbo jumbo so she wouldn't have to deal with it. I sighed and cut her off.

"Mom. Listen to me. He'll be okay. I know he will." I told her calmly. It wasn't that all of me believed it, but she needed to hear it.

"You can't possibly know that."

"Yes I can. Because Seeley Booth will never, ever let you down. Or me. When has he ever? He will NOT let himself leave us that easily." That's my dad. Never leaving with out a fight.

"That's… That's…" Mom tried to argue.

"Exactly what you need to hear." I filled in. She sighed in defeat and I continued. "I have to meet Michael, and he can give me a ride to the hospital. The secretary said she'll give me the rest of today excused from school."

"Alright. I'll see you then. You should get some lunch, first, though. Bye" She hung up as the lunch bell sounded. I handed the elderly woman the phone and wandered slowly out of the building. I made my way to the parking lot, where Michael was waiting. He leaned up against his car dangling the keys.

"Hey, Princess. Ready to go?" he asked, and then paused reading the shock and heartbreak in my face. "What happened in the office? Is everything all right?"

"My dad was shot." I said quietly. I lost it at that point. I completely broke down. I shoved my face into the space between his shoulder and his neck and sobbed. "Can you… take me to…. the… hospital…. after lunch?" I asked between sobs. He nodded quietly and pulled me tighter.

"Anything, Princess."


	2. Sorry

Its not that I hate hospitals, they exist for a reason, its that I really, really don't like them. They smell like anapestic and no one ever smiles. I never understood that. Everyone says, "Laughter is the best medicine", but a hospital is one of the most depressing places you will ever enter. So much for logic. I checked my watch, reasoning I'd been there long enough. I pulled out my phone and pressed speed dial #1.

"Hey, how is everything going?" I asked Grace when she answered her phone.

"Fine. If you want to go home, and have dinner with your dad and Mari, that is totally fine." She offered. How did she know? Oh, wait. She knows exactly what I'm thinking.

"Are… are you sure?" I asked.

"yes.. Oh. And Michael?" She asked.

"Yeah?"

"Thanks… for.. being there for me today. I was a mess." I heard the tones of sincerity in her voice, and I saw her biting her cheek and trying to hide it, I saw her warm brown eyes staring stoically trying to hide her sincerity. "Anytime, Princess. Anytime." I smiled as I hung up the phone.

Here she was sitting with her mother, waiting for her dad to come out of a coma, and she was worried that I was uncomfortable. God, she was amazing. And, admittedly I was crazy about her. Now, falling in love with your best friend isn't the worst thing that can happen to a person. Its the fact that I'm to scared to say anything about it because it could screw up our friendship. I sighed as I pulled my car into the driveway. As soon as I left the car I realized that Grace would have to leave the hospital soon, too. I had stayed with her since lunch time, and I knew visiting hours would end at 7:30, so that gave her roughly 40 minutes to convince the medical staff that visiting hours don't apply. I was pretty sure my mom would be home around eight, she was still at the hospital supporting Temperance, Grace's mother.

I shook my head trying to lose the day's stress. I was about to grab my house keys out of my pocket when the door opened. "MICKEY!" The girl ran out and I scooped her up in my arms. She was eight, and she could say 'Michael', but when she was little she couldn't and the nickname stuck. Her name was Mariposa. Mariposa Temperance Hodgins, my sister. I walked her into the house where my dad was grinning.

"Hey. You look tired. Any news on Booth?" He asked. Still calling one of his closest friends by his last name. Although my mom still called him Hodgins, instead of Jack.

"Uh, not really. The doctors said something about him having a bad reaction to the anesthesia. I think they called it[_Insert appropriate stutter for word]_

"[_Insert fancy science name]"_He offered and I nodded.

"Apparently it had happened before… anyway he'll wake up sometime tomorrow." I answered trying to keep my tone even. I didn't really want to let on how frazzled my nerves were. I knew my father, and he wouldn't let it go.

"So ready for dinner?" He asked.

"It smells delicious." I answered smiling. I set Mari **(A/N: This is pronounced like Mars minus the 's' and plus a long 'e')** on a chair and helped my dad serve the home baked goodness. We made small talk as we sliced into it. I asked about Mari's school, he asked about mine. I asked about how Agent Booth had gotten shot, he told me it was nut bar of a serial killer.

"We caught the bastard, though." He added as we set the plates down on the table.

"Say…. You and Mom have been together awhile. You obviously had to trouble romantically. Can you give a guy advice?" I asked.

"Are you really that old now?" He joked, his eyes flashing toward Mari. He was deflecting. He didn't want to say anything risqué in front of her. I humored him, sarcastically pointing out that I was seventeen.

"Well, then I guess we need to have a talk." He said, obviously teasing me. Soon Mari had finished her dinner and was wandering down the hall to take a shower.

"Can we talk now?" I asked.

"How did you…?" He shook his head, "Never mind. You have a scientist's knack for observation. So, you want dating advice from a man who took almost six years to finally start a life with the woman he was in love with?" I rolled my eyes at his cynicism.

"Yeah. See, there is this girl. I've known her a long time, and I'm absolutely over the moon about her, but I think she sees our relationship as strictly platonic." He nodded, a knowing grin slipping across his face.

"Ah, yes. 'The- I'm- in-love- with- my- best- friend- but –I'm -scared- shitless- to – tell- her' syndrome." He nodded. "I want you to remember this. It will stay with you for the rest of your life. Just tell her. Tell her everything. Don't hide behind excuses or fear or anything. Its like _Sorry_ if you don't act now someone else will come in and bump you out of your place. And it takes such a long damn time to get home anyway." He looked me dead in the eye as he said this and I couldn't help but laugh.

"You know for a smart-ass scientist you can be surprisingly serious when you wan to be." I told him, taking his advice into consideration.

"I'm not Sirius, he's dead!" I withered in the wake of my dad's corny Harry Potter joke.

"How long do I have before I'm bumped back to start?" I asked him, deflecting his cornball attitude.

"Well, some beetle can lie dormant for thousands of years. I don't recommend that." Of course Mr. Bug & Slime had to relate to some random Beetle. I shook my head.

"I'm going to go call Grace and see what she is up too." I told him and disappeared down the hall to ask how a shot FBI agent was doing.


	3. Clue

The next morning I awoke to the unpleasant sound of a vital monitor beeping in a regular rhythm with the beat of my heart. Strange. Normally one's heartbeat is all their own. My father was still in a coma, my mother next to him, obviously sleep deprived. I sighed, beginning to feel the pinching of muscles twisted and gnarled by hospital furniture. My mom turned to look at me.

"Did you stay up all night?" I asked her.

"Yeah. Its irrational, and I never expected it to happen, but I have become dependant of your father in my life." She said calmly, trying to hide the pain in her voice.

"I know" I said, giving her hand a light squeeze, "I'm going to grab something to eat from the cafeteria." I let her hand go and turned to the door. As soon as I left the room my phone jingled with the arrival of a new text. _Michael_. I thought as I pulled my phone out and read: **New Text From Michael Hodgins**. I accepted and read, "Morning, Sunshine. Did he survive the night?" It was a wonder to me how Michael had that psychic ability to know the perfect time to text me. I replied instantly, reciprocating the well wishes and answering his question. We chatted idly, bantering back and forth. I ate slowly, lingering awhile in the cafeteria. Honestly, my dad's room was just a little too depressing.

Twenty minutes later I was a few feet away from the door to the room, hesitant. Hesitant because I could here my mother's muffled voice. She was talking to my father, begging him to stay.

"Booth, you have to wake up. If you leave me I will never move on. You make me laugh on my darkest days. You catch me when I fall. You know exactly what I'm thinking, before I've even thought it. You know me better than I know myself. You eyes light up just faintly when you laugh. You fight for me. You kill for me. You'd die for me, and I for you. You make me soup when I'm sick. You bring the take- out and I bring the movie. You get me to let loose and dance. You make my blood hot with just a single touch. I know I never believed in this before, but you are my soul mate, and I love you. Which is why I know you won't leave me." When she finished, I smiled. Seeing their parents saying those things would disgust most people, but to me it's comforting. I think its sweet. That's when my emotions sucker punched me. Those things she said. Comfort, happiness, soup when your sick, knowing me better than I know myself, reading my mind, letting loose, I had someone who was all those things for me. Michael.

It was an epiphany. I was in love with Michael. Deeply. Madly. Truly. I thought about how his eyes sparkled when he smiled. I thought about the way his neck turns a light pink color when he lies. I thought about his warm inviting laugh. I thought about his heart, the door that was always open. I thought about his glistening blue eyes. How they seemed to stare right through me. How he never lied to the people he loved. How he could tell the slightest changes in someone's behavior, but if the school was redecorated he'd barely notice. How he held his breath when he concentrated. The days we spent huddled up on his couch watching _I Love Lucy_ reruns after I got my tonsils taken out. How he can name all kinds of random facts, but only about bugs, slime, or artwork. How he cracks up laughing whenever someone says 'phalanges', because of the song my mother sang to us hen we were little, and later to Mari. How he licks his lips when he is nervous. And then just as all these thoughts were rushing to head—along with twenty galloons of blood—I realized I had no idea what to do about this newfound information. There was only one thing to do in a situation like this.

I had to call Parker. Parker is my 27 year- old half brother. You see, before my mother came along and changed his life, my father had other relationships, one was with Parker's mother, Rebecca Stinson. Rebecca wouldn't marry my dad, but he never stopped loving Parker,, and he never blamed Parker for the demise of the relationship. Anyway, Parker was living with his girlfriend, Robin, in an amazing loft in Manhattan. He had a job as a columnist for the Times. Talk about cool. He's also been writing a suspense- thriller from the point of view of a F.B.I Agent's son. I've read snippets of it and I have to say that he's got talent. So I turned away from my dad's room, sat in the waiting room and dialed Parker's number.

"You rang?" He greeted.

"Robin? Its Grace, is Parker there?" I teased. I could see him rolling his eyes at my immature humor.

"What's up twerp? News on Dad?" He asked, trying to cover the worry in his voice.

"No. He's going to be fine, by the way. I was looking for advice." I could hear him suck air through his teeth.

"And your not asking Michael? There is only one reason you go to a sibling and not your Best Friend for advice. Oh. My. GOD! Grace and Michael sitting in a tree K-I-S-S-N-G, first comes love, then comes marriage, then comes a baby in a baby carriage!" he joked, much to my annoyance.

"Yes. Yes. Now shut- up!" I yelled, already regretting my decision to call Parker.

"Okay. You want to know if you should tell him, bury it under 50 emotional bricks, or just do subtle little things for him to show him how you feel, right?" See, this is why Parker is awesome. He always knows what's going on.

"Yeah." Was all I said.

"Well, here is what I have learned. Its impossible to know exactly how someone feels until they actually tell you. Its like Clue. You have a pretty good idea that its, 'Connell Mustard in the Study with the Candlestick', but there is an off- chance its really 'Connell Mustard in the Library with the lead pipe'. The answer is always marked confidential. So, go ahead and guess. If you lose the game, play again." Parker was good at advice like that, advice that made you feel stupid for asking.

"Thanks. I'll just guess. I'll call him now and ask if he can meet me." I said a touch of sarcasm coming through. Sure, I was going to call him, but I couldn't help wondering if I was making the right decision.


	4. Yahtzee

It was a very special day. I was going to play the game. True, I was supposed to be at school, but Agent Booth's injury gave me the excuse to stay home 'sick'. I showered, brushed my teeth, and dressed within thirty minutes. I was just so hopped up on adrenaline that everything was faster. I was about to call Grace to set up a meeting time when my cell went off, playing _Jessie's Girl_, Grace's favorite song. I grinned, remembering the day she stole my phone and set that as her ring tone. She was always doing things like that. I barely let it ring before answering.

"Couldn't wait to hear my voice, could you, Princess?" I joked.

"Don't flatter yourself, I was just afraid you'd overslept. Remember your History final?" She shot back. I laughed remembering the escapade. I nearly failed the class. Something I never would've live down because Grace is a history nut. That's one of Grace's best quirks.

"Well, thank you for your concern, but I am awake and ready to go. I just need to grab a bagel and some coffee. And then I'll meet you at _our place_." She replied that she was helping her mom make an omelet. We confirmed our plans and chatted meaninglessly for a few minutes, while she waited for her omelet to finish cooking. Minutes later I was shoving a bagel down the toaster.

"So, Michael, I hear you and Grace have something special planned for today." My mother asked suggestively. I looked to my dad urgently.

"Uh, well Grace doesn't know that. And Dad wasn't supposed to tell you!" I groaned.

"I'm just so weak to your mother." He deflected.

"Why aren't you at work?" I asked, realizing it was a weekday.

"Cam's mandatory post- Serial Killer vacation day." My dad informed, sitting down with his coffee across from my mom at the kitchen table.

"Anyway, where are you seeing Grace?" Mom asked. My bagel popped and I grabbed it before replying.

"You know that old park over on Labrador Drive? With the swing set nobody uses because they think it's going to fall over?" I smeared cream cheese on my bagel as I spoke. They both nodded.

"Those swings? That's our place. Contrary to popular belief they work just fine." I smiled thinking about the good times we've had there.

"Well have fun, and good luck" Dad offered as I walked out the door half eaten bagel in one hand steaming hot coffee in the other. I flopped into my car, balancing the bagel carefully on the coffee. If it spilled I'd have to pay for cleaning, or clean my self. It wasn't a long drive to the park, but I didn't want to walk, because it would take to long. I was immensely eager, or rather, anxious. When I got there Grace was already sitting on the swing, her golden brown waves falling perfectly on her shoulders. She smiled when she saw me, a slight shine in her eyes.

"Ello, Princess. I trust your omelet party went well?" She rolled her warm brown eyes and chuckled.

"It wasn't a party. My mom was just happy, and we had a lot of eggs." I sat down next to her, and grabbed her hand, putting on a very serious face.

"Under any other circumstances, that sentence would scare me." I told her, as seriously as I could. It didn't last long because she dissolved into hysterical laughter, which of course made me laugh. Soon she couldn't breathe, her intakes of breathe became sharp, and her laughter squeaky. Once she calmed down. She frowned just slightly.

"I hate that laugh, I sound like a dying cat." She complained.

"Hey, now. Don't be sad. You know what I think?" I asked.

"What? That it sounds worse than a dying cat?" She asked sarcastically.

"No. I think your laugh is great. In fact, I… I love your laugh." I paused, swallowing down my fears.

"You do?" She asked. I nodded.

"I also love the way the tops of your ears turn red when you lie. I love how you go off on long tangents about things that are completely irrelevant to the conversation. I love how played Yahtzee for hours with my mom when you got snowed in our cabin and the rest of us were stuck in the ski lodge, even though you hate the game because you always roll four of a kinds but never, ever Yahtzees. I love how when you look me in the eyes I feel warm and fuzzy inside. I love how good you are with Mari. I love how you bite your cheek when you're nervous because you don't know people can see it. I love that you are the only one who really knows what its like to be me. I love how you don't care what the rest of the world thinks because you know you're beautiful inside and out. I love how you can sit there and listen to your mom's science jargon and it doesn't phase you. I love your loyalty. I love that you always give gifts from the heart, I love how passionate you are about your beliefs. I love that you don't let anyone tell you what the 'right' thing is. I love how you connect everything to some random historical fact. I love that you're always up for an adventure. I love that you eat mushrooms, but you hate mushroom pizza. I love that even though you don't care how your hair looks most of the time, it still looks amazing. And, you know what I love the most?" I asked, reading her face. She was obviously still processing everything, trying to process that the words were coming from my mouth. When the question registered she replied with a simple word.

"What?" And then I grinned. A wide honest grin.

"You." Her face was shocked, there was something in her eyes I couldn't read, and that worried me. For once, I didn't know what she was thinking. I felt like my heart was balancing on a tight rope and it would either fall and break, or she would catch it. Slowly, as she registered what was going on, her face changed. Her warm brown eyes lit up, and seemed happy. Something was still bothering her. "What?" I asked. Watching her slowly sitting down on her swing. She didn't say anything. Not for a long time. Or, at least it felt like a long time.

"Michael. I just.. I just don't know if this is a good idea." That's when I knew. When I saw it in her eyes. "What about our families? And our lives, for that matter. What if it doesn't work out? What if my dad shoots you?" She was making up excuses. It was stupid. I knew how she felt, and how I felt, and that her dad would never shoot me.

"Oh, come on. You can't honestly think your mom would let Booth shoot me! Besides, we have known each other all our lives. We know every little thing about each other. We don't have to worry about a honeymoon period ending because we already know each other's ticks. Like when I click pens or you tap your foot. When will either of us meet a person who will get to know us well enough to make the other one jealous? At least not until college…"

"College. You're going to a Stanford next year. What then? You'll meet some college chick who doesn't know who your parents are? And don't try to convince me that you're finishing your senior year. You'd lose the once in a life time scholarship opportunity. It wouldn't be fair for me to make you choose." I'd forgotten about that. I definitely understood where she was coming from. And she was right. Except for the slutty college girl thing.

"Grace, that's just stupid. I would never, ever, EVER hurt you, so obviously those college girls wouldn't stand a chance against you. And, honestly, the scholarship doesn't matter. My dad is filthy, stinking, rich, remember? And I think I might just want to go to a college on the east coast. I won't be right next door, but pretty close. And I wouldn't be doing it just for you. My mom has been on my back about staying closer to home." She nodded, taking things into consideration. She bit her cheek and smiled.

"Okay. I can live with that." She twisted the swing so she was facing me, as did I, and then she leaned in, an inch from my face and whispered, "Yahtzee". That was it. I couldn't take it any longer. I closed the gap between our lips. I ran my fingers through her hair, refusing to let her go.


	5. Game Over

I sighed, looked in the mirror one last time, and ran my hand to my light brown locks. It was weird, going on a date with Michael. I stepped out into the entryway of the house, across from the living room, and lean against the wall. It was 6:45, and Michael would be there at 7.

" Where are you headed all dressed up?" A voice asked behind me. Damn. I thought he was asleep.

" On a date." I said sharply, turning to face my injured father. He grunted in pain as he attempted to sit up.

" With a real person? Who is the guy? Does he know your dad has gun?" I had to bite my cheek to keep from laughing at the bombardment of questions. The irony was undeniable. How many times he trusted Michael? Fathers.

" Yes, Michael, and yes." I answered quickly. His eyes bulged in shock, which made me want to laugh even more.

" Michael Hodgins? Well… that certainly changes things. Have fun, I guess." He seemed dumbfounded. I chuckled and turned to the door, as I heard a knock. I opened it to see Michael standing outside. He wore a dark blue tee shirt, and dark jeans. His sharpness in his blue eyes was brought out by his shirt, and I found myself getting lost in them. His reddish brown hair was slightly combed to the side, but didn't look like it was vigorously styled. _Irish Hair_. He was grinning at me like an idiot.

"Yon chariot awaits." He said in a cornball accent. I giggled, in spite of myself, and the rolled my eyes at his cheesy line. It was so typically Michael.

"How long did you work on that one?" I asked sarcastically. Now it was his turn to roll his eyes, as he opened the door to his car, for me. He quickly jogged around the car to get in.

"So is your dad going to shoot me?" He asked, teasingly. He knew it wasn't going to happen, his mom would probably murder my dad if he laid a hand on Michael. (Artists' temperament, and all that.) I smiled, and shook my head.

"I don't think so, although I'd inspect all food before eating it." I snickered at Michael's soured face, as he realized what I was implying. Dork.

"Okay, I'll change the subject before I genuinely fear for my life. You look nice tonight, did your mom help you?" He was right, she did. I don't why, but his compliment made me nervous. I ran my fingers along the green fabric of my casual dress, and swallowed.

"Yeah." My voice cracked, and I was thankful that we pulled up to the restaurant. Enchiladas here I come. And then, a movie! I can shut up before I say something stupid. Then I realized. This was Michael. He already knew that I could be a totally moron sometimes, as could he, and so it really didn't matter how stupid I sounded. Soon we were seated, and examining a menu.

"So, I know the only thing you like here is the enchiladas, so you'll get that… I guess I'll get a quesadilla." He said absently. I nodded. He ordered, mostly because I was afraid of embarrassing myself further in front of the waiter.

"So, when did you realize that you liked me?" I asked, realizing I had no idea.

"When you were in 6th grade and that guy Jake bought you a cookie at lunch. I realized that it bugged me that the two of you were so chummy. It kept getting more and more intense, and… real… after that. I wanted to be your only one. Still do." He said, tapping his fingers on the table nervously. I smiled, to let him know that It was okay. His blue pools seemed to brighten, and I smiled wider. This was right. This was where I was supposed to be. I reached my hand across that table and grabbed his.

"You know, earlier today I remembered that time I had the measles, and you came over every day after school, with books, movies, magazines, and homework. Remember that game we played? We had that big tournament? What was it?" I asked, feeling excitement well up inside me. I knew what it was called, but I had to get him to say it.

"Monopoly. I remember that. What about it?" He asked, slightly confused, but mostly intrigued. I reached into my purse and pulled out a small, silver figurine. He smiled when he recognized it. It was the top- hat. He had always been the top-hat, until we lost it. Actually I had stolen it, just to annoy him. I never forgot about it, and I'm sure he didn't, either.

"I thought you might want this." I set in his hand and watched his blue orbs light up like a kid on Christmas.

"You remembered? Where'd you find it?" He asked gleefully.

"I stole it. And, of course I remember! You moaned about it for 3 weeks." I told him. He smiled, and I realized something. This was going to work. We were already best friends, which is something unbreakable. Besides that, I knew everything about him. I knew his full name was Michael Staccato Vincent Hodgins. I knew he had a 25% chance of being blind. I knew he loved old black and white TV shows like Bewitched, I Dream of Genie, Greenacres, and I Love Lucy. I knew he preferred Bugs Bunny to any cartoon character. Ever. Period. I knew his favorite books for Shakespeare plays, but that he had a weakness for novels like Percy Jackson and Harry Potter. I knew he liked lots of garlic on his spaghetti. I knew he hated classical music. I knew rock 'n roll is a stress reliever to him because his grand daddy would play it to him when he was a baby. I knew he didn't play violent video games because of the studies linking them to violent behavior. And even in the morning before he takes a shower and uses his dad's pine scented soap, he naturally smells like cinnamon. I knew when he was 11 he cried Betty White's nationally broadcasted funeral. And his big toe was double-jointed. I knew he loved bagels with cream cheese and raspberry's for breakfast. I knew that if and when he had children, he wanted fraternal boy girl twins that he can name them Erin and Aaron. I knew he made bad jokes when he was uncomfortable. I knew he inherited his father's knack for blowing things up. I knew he loved the smell of the ocean but hates sea gulls. I knew he thought the Ritz-Carlton should have really fancy crackers on the room service menu. I know he thinks carrot cake defeats the purpose of cake by putting vegetables in it. I know he has never ever lied to anyone in his life. I know he had his tonsils taken out and came down with strep a week later. I know he had the flu so bad lesser yet to be in hospital. I knew he's to think the pies are poisonous because they tasted back him. I knew she must've been only calibrated actually enjoyed Brussels sprouts. I know he prefers plain old fruit pies to fancy meringues. I knew his favorite thing to do in amusement parks was to eat soft pretzels. I knew he loved roller coasters, but hated going on and alone. I knew he's agnostic. I nearly always carried an umbrella with him because of the morning salt slogan, "when it rains it pours". I knew he hates needles which I can't blame them for. And if you preferred it to run ratio of marshmallows to cocoa. I knew he is very particular about the difference between hot cocoa hot chocolate I knew he never gave up I knew he firmly believed that laughter is the best medicine I know he has his dad I said I know he has a freakishly adorable 8-year-old little sister named Mariposa Temperance Hodgins. I knew he loved southern food. I knew he had a funeral in his rabbit died 4 years ago. I knew that if and when he got married she wanted to have a wedding pie rather than a wedding cake. And if he fidgeted constantly without realizing it. I knew that if he had been born a girl his name would've been Katherine.

And in that moment I knew that all of those things were why I loved him. I would never be surprised by anything he did, because I knew him so well, but don't think for a second the thrill would be gone. He was the only one who could ever know me like this, because he was the only one who knew what it was like to be me.


End file.
